


Enchancia’s Steward

by Jathis



Category: Sofia the First (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Memory Loss, Rescue, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29410362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/pseuds/Jathis
Summary: He used to be a castle steward. That was what these people were telling him. He didn’t know if he could believe them.
Relationships: Baileywick/Cedric the Sorcerer, Baileywick/Roland II of Enchancia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	Enchancia’s Steward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miss_nettles_wife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Warm Arm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543337) by [miss_nettles_wife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife). 



> Based on the slavery au made by Miss_Nettles_Wife

Tomorrow he was going to die. He would be hung upside down from a metal hook over the ground. A freshly sharpened knife would be run across his throat and his blood would be collected in a bucket before the rest of his body was butchered and mixed with various animal parts and feed.

One of the handlers who was often scolded for being too soft with the slaves told him that tomorrow morning he would be sent to the building where the hunting dogs were trained. He had only reacted with a faint nod, knowing that having a breakdown would do nothing but speed up the process. At his age death was to be expected.

They never used those exact words when an old slave was sold to the dog trainer but everyone knew what it meant when someone was sent there. It was a public secret that was kept to give the illusion of civility among the merchants and traders. The dogs needed to gain a taste for human flesh to better perform their job to track runaways down and butchering an old or untrainable slave for food dealt with feeding the dogs and getting rid of trash at the same time. It also served fairly well in keeping the new arrivals in line when they saw what happened.

He went to work like it was any other day. Spending his last day weeping would not change anything. He spoke softly with the younger slaves, giving them advice on how to make themselves presentable to potential buyers. He gave small posture lessons, showing the proper bows and how one was expected to hold their head around the masters. He wasn’t exactly sure why he knew these things. He supposed he had been trained about them long ago. 

His words had helped several slaves end up being sold to nobles and castles, escaping the mines and brothels run by the crasser slave buyers. This had of course also earned the sellers more money in the process and so he was allowed to continue teaching the others.

He was in his early seventies. He was considered one of the oldest slaves in the market. Being allowed to live this long had been a gift.

He was called Wick by the merchants and other slaves in the marketplace. He didn’t remember what his name had been before and it was better than a set of numbers most of the other slaves his age were called by.

_Baileywick. He had been named Baileywick. His brother called him Wicky._

Wick thought that perhaps he had belonged to a castle once before being brought here.

_Worked. He had worked there. Slavery was outlawed in Enchancia. They would have never done this to him._

He was replaced when he got too old to properly do his duties. He was lucky not to be put down and just be sent away.

_He was tricked into retiring. His job was stolen from him. That young man from Rudistan..._

_He didn’t have to leave. He shouldn’t have left. He has only meant to leave for a few days to clear his head after retiring. He was attacked and taken across the border. Someone mentioned making sure he could not ruin Slickwell’s new job._

Wick had lived a long time for a slave and it was all he could be thankful for. 

Later he would be taken by the arm and brought into a small tent. His collar was attached to a ring set into the floor, given just enough slack to move around without being able to leave the tent. He was old but he was still healthy enough to earn his owner money with his body and mouth.

His body was starting to fall into a familiar ache that would stay with him throughout the night. It tended to happen after his third or fourth client. Wick stayed on his side where the last client had left him. It was easier to let them move his body the way they wanted it to be. Sometimes his mind took him back to odd looking places and people. He was wearing clothes reserved for free people and helping children grow to their full potential.

_Home. It was taking him home._

He let his eyes droop as he heard the front of the tent being opened again. Wick’s legs relaxed and he let out a slow breath as he willed himself to get ready. They always expected him to stay on his stomach or back during the sunlight hours. There were plenty of jars of lubricant nearby to make things easier and he never fought when his legs were opened. He wasn’t expected to get on his knees until the sun was starting to set.

He was not expecting to be suddenly grabbed and pulled into a sitting up position. He gasped and stared at the young man holding his arm with wide eyes. He was an odd looking man, his nose rather long and his hair an odd mix of black with gray bangs that stood out. He did not recognize him and had never seen him before.

_He did and he had._

“Baileywick? Baileywick, it’s you!” he whispered in awe.

“Sir..?” The stranger drew a wand from his sleeve and Wick flinched as the chain on his collar was broken. He shook his head, feeling himself start to panic when he heard curious shouting outside. Something was wrong. Something bad was happening. “Please…”

“Baileywick, we’ve been looking for you all these years! Sofia figured out what Slickwell had done. She found a book on cursed objects and...and she found the receipt he had been given for selling you to those slavers…”

“Sir, this is where I belong. Please, leave me here,” he begged.

The magic user looked at him sadly, shaking his head as he kept a hold on his wrist. “Baileywick, it’s me. It’s Cedric. Don’t you remember me?”

The sound of shouting and fighting was getting louder outside of the tent. Wick could feel himself start to panic. He was meant to die tomorrow. None of this was meant to happen.

“Baileywick…”

He yanked himself free and dove out the back of the tent. The stranger with the odd hair and purple robe called after him but he ran, looking for his owner. His owner would know what to do. His owner would forgive him for leaving the tent before he was called for. Bad slaves were punished, good slaves were rewarded.

Soldiers. There were soldiers here. Merchants and trainers were being restrained or killed and the ones in collars and chains were being freed from their restraints. It was all wrong. None of this was supposed to be happening.

Wick froze up, unable to process what he was supposed to do now. His owner, he needed to find his owner. Maybe he…

A stronger hand came down on his shoulder and he let out a scream of fright as he turned. Tears fell down his cheeks as the well dressed man stared at him in confusion, keeping a hand on his shoulder. This man was dressed far nicer than any of the buyers or clients Wick had seen before. He held himself like a noble or some kind of…

_King. He’s a king. You helped raise him and his children._

“Roland!” Cedric came running up, panting as he gestured to the slave Roland was holding. “It’s Baileywick! We’ve found him!” the sorcerer said.

The king of Enchancia looked at the terrified looking slave sadly, shaking his head. “We’re taking him home. Come,” he said. He pulled Baileywick away as Cedric shouted out orders to the soldiers and knights liberating the town, leading him to a carriage.

Wick could feel himself start to cry. He didn’t understand what was happening or who these people were. “Sir, please…” he wept.

“Shhh...you’re okay. Everything is going to be okay, Baileywick.” He wiped at his face with his sleeve before pulling him inside, forcing him to sit down in a seat. He watched helplessly as the older man trembled, hugging himself. He could have never imagined the royal steward to look like this. “Baileywick, don’t you remember me?” he asked. The pitiful figure kept his head bowed, refusing to look up from the floor of the carriage. “Baileywick?”

“It happens to slaves sometimes.” Cedric sat on Baileywick’s other side, blocking him from the exit. “They lose pieces of themselves. I think it’s the only way their minds can protect them.”

“Please, I am supposed to feed the dogs tomorrow,” Wick murmured.

Cedric paled and Roland looked as if he were barely holding back his anger at this declaration. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he tried to think of what to say. “Baileywick…”

“Sir, I…”

“Your name is Baileywick. You belong to me now.” He shook his head faintly at Cedric to stop the sorcerer from saying anything. He then turned his attention to Baileywick, catching his eye. “Do you understand? You are my property. I have named you Baileywick. We are going to Enchancia. That is my kingdom.”

“Enchancia,” Baileywick whispered.

“Your new home,” Roland said. He watched sadly as this seemed to finally calm the older man down. “Is there any chance of getting anything back, Cedric?” he asked.

The sorcerer could only shake his head. “It’s hard to say,” he said. “All we can do is try to help him or at least give him better memories to make up for what was lost.”

Baileywick flinched as Roland took his hand. He looked up shyly at the man he now knew as a king and his new owner. It was improper for a slave to be so terrified of a new owner. “Master…”

“Roland, you will call me Roland,” he said. He gestured to Cedric with a tilt of his head. “This is the royal sorcerer. You will address him as Cedric.”

Cedric smiled sadly as Baileywick turned to look at him as if for the first time. He tried not to think about how to Baileywick’s broken mind; this was the first time. “Hello, Baileywick.”

“...what is to be my purpose?”

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “You will be my royal steward. I am in need of one for my castle. The last one was a liar and the previous one was cruelly stolen from us.”

“A steward?” Baileywick asked, eyes growing wide in surprise. “Are...are you sure I am capable of such a service? I...I have never done such a thing before…”

Cedric was forced to turn his face away, staring out the window to fight back the tears forming in his eyes. Roland for his part bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself under control. “I am sure you will do nicely,” he finally said, his voice thick.

***

This kingdom of Enchancia was so different. The king and royal sorcerer insisted on helping Wick bathe, washing away years of dirt that had left him looking grey and sickly. The sight of a king on his knees with his sleeves folded to his elbows and a sorcerer down to his button up and trousers left him blushing. All of this to clean an old slave.

He did not nearly look as old anymore once he was washed. They had even taken care of his grey hair, cutting it to a manageable length and brushing it back. Roland shaved his face clean with a brand new razor. Cedric placed a small pair of spectacles on his nose and Baileywick was amazed to find that his vision improved instantly once they were in place. Perhaps Cedric had cast some kind of spell on them?

The removal of his collar had terrified him at first. He remembered always having the familiar weight locked around his throat, just tight enough to make swallowing uncomfortable at all times. It kept him humble and reminded him of where he belonged. The king had it removed without a second thought and held Baileywick for hours afterwards when he cried at its loss.

They gave him his own room. It was a real room, with a bed and pieces of furniture. Baileywick swore that he would keep his bed clean and wash the sheets daily. A slave being given a bed should always consider themselves blessed. There was even a window that looked out over the garden with curtains that could be opened and closed as he wished. He found clothes his size already in the dressers and drawers. Baileywick did not understand how they could have all of this ready for him. Cedric had started to tear up when asked and Roland just shook his head, insisting that this room was always his.

The king’s family were very kind to him. They were patient with him, speaking slowly and softly to him about things they seemed to believe he would somehow remember. The youngest princess had become like a second shadow to him, holding onto him as she tried to help him remember. The daughter called Amber had pressed a golden pocket watch into his hands, insisting that it belonged to him. He had nodded and accepted it, not wishing to seem ungrateful for the princess’ seemingly random gift.

Sometimes he thought he remembered something odd whenever Sofia brought it up. Apples hanging from a tree on string for instance. Ice cream and sitting in a treehouse with fishing lines to pretend it was a boat. Flower petals falling from the sky. Frogs and a fear of them. They had a palace that could float but his stomach was too weak for it.

He once was found staring at a portrait of King Roland the First for hours. “I...I served him…” he whispered as Cedric led him away, surprised by the sudden realization.

“Yes, you did,” Cedric agreed with a smile. “You helped raise me and my sister and Roland and his sister in this castle a long time ago.”

“...was I a good slave then?” he asked.

“You were never a slave. You came from the village. You went to school and became a steward.”

“I…” Baileywick could only shake his head, wincing as his head started to hurt from thinking too much. Villagers did not become royal stewards...did they?

“Easy. It’s time for lunch. No need to worry about the past,” Cedric soothed.

“I came from here,” he whispered, rubbing his temple.

He fought down the hopeful feeling building inside of him. It was wrong to expect too much from Baileywick too soon. “Yes.”

“I am back home.”

He allowed himself to smile at that. “Yes,” he said.

“I...will I stay here?” The sorcerer let go of his hand and turned to look at him. He opened his mouth to apologize when he was pulled into his arms and held close.

“We will never lose you again, Baileywick. We swear it. You’re home.”

Slowly he returned the gesture, unsure of why it felt right to do so. “Home,” he whispered.


End file.
